


Sacrifices

by pinkcinders



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien and Marinette's relationship is platonic when he's little, Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, Diapers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gabriel Agreste's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, Infantilism, Non Sexual Age Regression, Non-Sexual Age Play, could actually be read as strictly platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:37:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8874253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkcinders/pseuds/pinkcinders
Summary: The thing about finally getting what you've craved for so long, is that when it actually happens, you don't know what to think. If it's better than you imagined, you wait for the other shoe to drop. It's a dream--or it's going to be a joke and end soon. Marinette does so much for Adrien. She honestly loves him so much that it makes his chest hurt when she looks at him. She gives him so much, and all he has to offer in return is his life. It's not enough."You don't have to make any sacrifices for me, little one." She continued in a gentle whisper, like she knew the bad thoughts in his head. "It's okay."





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been really into Non Sexual Age Regression fics for a while. I haven't ever really wrote anything for them, but there's very little in really any fandom, especially my favorites it seems omg, so I'm looking to rectify it!

Ever since he was born, Adrien has been working to the point of exhaustion. His first modeling job had been when he was six months old, for Gabriel’s child designer onsies line. After that he’d spent his days promoting baby food and formula, learning several languages right along with French.

Instead of toys and playtime, he had books and lessons. It wasn’t all bad--before she'd disappeared, his mother made sure he had a few moments here or there to spend with the family, and his father had moments where he actually acted loving. Not completely terrible, but a far cry from what a childhood was supposed to look like. At age six he had a better paying job (complete with more hours) than most adults could ever hope for.

Despite all of the stress, he doesn’t think that he’s ever worked for anything as hard as he had for that of Ladybug’s attention. His days were spent flirting. Trying to get closer or presenting her with flowers and other small gifts. When he was comfortable enough, his voice rang with declarations of love. Just letting her know, for a while, had been enough.

Oh, Adrien had _proven_ his love to her beyond words more than a few times, as well. In ways that simple gifts wouldn’t. He’d thrown himself in front of her time and time again; he’d shown that he’d rather die before she could receive a single scratch.

After time, she’d worn down. He showed her some of his insecurities, and she’d felt comfortable enough to show him hers. Masks off (metaphorically, for a long time), she’d truly seen him. And the warm glow in his stomach when she’d accepted it and let him see her back was well worth the wait. They traded all their secrets. Attention wasn’t hard to come by, these days.

That doesn’t mean that he’d stopped any of his efforts, however. That would just be rude.

Ladybugs ( _Marinettes_ , he reminded himself with a touch of amusement) desk and walls were littered in crafts. Finger paintings, crayon drawings, tiny paper mache animals, little clay and play-dough figures--you name it, she had it. He’d never had the chance to build his basic art skills as a child, so they looked as if they belonged to an actual toddler, but Marinette didn’t seem to mind.

Every single time he presented her with a new gift, her eyes softened and shined with something indescribable. She’d lean up and kiss his cheek, tell him how wonderful it was (and she would know, she was a real artist) and then immediately hang it up somewhere. Adrien had never felt prouder than in those moments.

Covered in art, stuffed animals she’d made or he’d bought, and a few toys or discarded pacifiers here or there, all with the smell of baked goods floating up from downstairs … her room was his safest place. He could be himself and be loved for it. He didn’t have to hide. It felt like home.

(Which is why, when he had to go back to Gabriel’s house every day, he’d cry and get clingier. She’d make it better, like she always did, but he had to be big sometimes. He liked being big, sometimes, even. Just not _there_.

Right now, though, he doesn’t think he could be big if he tried.)

“Shhh, my sweet boy.” Marinette tried her best to soothe him. The sound had little effect when he had a foot long gash curved around his torso. When she undoubtedly had a broken rib or two, and smaller gashes just about everywhere. Her small hands were gentle, but the antiseptic burned, and tears flowed freely down his cheeks.

Soft hitching sobs filled the room as Marinette set about cleaning his wound and wrapping it. Adrien’s face was nearly as red as the blood spilled on her sheets. “M-Mama …” He chokes out in a voice younger than he has a right to be. “M-Mama I … I’m saw-ree.”

If he hadn’t been trained when he was younger, if Marinette’s parents weren’t sleeping somewhere below, the eighteen year old might have wailed. He was too little for words, and he was so upset and hurt and he had to let her know that. He might have thrown back his head and let everyone in the near vicinity know that. Know he’d been bad. Know he messed up and he just wanted to feel better again.

But he knew, he didn’t have a right to be sad about being hurt. He’d deserved it, after what he’d done.

“Oh, mon minou.” ** _(1.)_**  Marinette sighed, fastening the last of the gauze over his ouchie. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Adrien couldn’t argue with her. Oh, he wanted to, but his breath was much too fast, sobs breaking and sending his chest tight. His body was too shaky to do anything else, so he just shook his head furiously instead. Usually he was too little to say very much, so it’s not like she’d be mad at him. He hoped she wouldn’t be mad.

Marinette hummed softly, pulling him partially into her lap and rubbing his back. He’s too big to really be held by her, or be carried, but laps are usually okay. With how hurt both of them were, though, it wouldn’t be the best idea in the world. He knows that, logically. It still doesn’t stop whimpers from spilling from his lips, or the snot from his nose. He just wanted her to hug him and tell him it was gonna be okay, but Mama couldn’t hug him because he’d went and--and--

“We’re both heroes, baby boy.” She wiped at his face with a tissue. “ _Partners_. We work together to protect people who can’t save themselves. You saved the whole city at the cost of just a few boo-boos, all by yourself. Mama is so proud of you, chère.” **_(2.)_**

 ****And those words cause a new wave of tears, the hands to tighten further into her shirt, face pressed up into her neck. He couldn't remember the last time anyone other than Marinette had told him they were _proud_ of him. It was just words, but it made happiness and embarrassment and sadness swirl together in the pit of his stomach. It both loosened his panic attack and made him want to cry more.

The thing about finally getting what you've craved for so long, is that when it actually happens, you don't know what to think. If it's better than you imagined, you wait for the other shoe to drop. It's a dream--or it's going to be a joke and end soon. Marinette does so much for Adrien. She honestly  _loves_ him so much that it makes his chest hurt when she looks at him. She gives him so much, and all he has to offer in return is his life. It's not enough.

"You don't have to make any sacrifices for me, little one." She continued in a gentle whisper, like she knew the bad thoughts in his head. "It's okay."

They sit there for a long time. Despite her injury, Marinette puts her baby first. She whispers sweet nothings to him, calms his breath through matching exercises, reassures him, wipes the icky stuff from his face …

Basically, she’s completely and utterly perfect. She always is.

Adrien is still incredibly small. But, then again, _he_ always is. He’ll need a diaper slipped on sooner rather than later, to avoid any messes, but all he can do is cling desperately to her, green eyes bright with tears left unshed.

After what feels like hours and hours, he lifts his gaze to hers and is met with only patience and gentle love. It gives him the courage to smack his lips like when he wants his binky, and let out a very tentative whisper.

“Bibi?” Marinette smiles, pressing a warm kiss to his forehead.

“Does Mama’s chatton want some milk?” **_(3.)_** She was cooing at him, now, in that sickly sweet baby voice that would be absolutely mortifying if anyone else heard. If he was big. All it does now is make him feel cozy and loved, and he nods lightly, nuzzling into her neck for a second.

Marinette laughs softly, pressing another few smooches to his brow, as if she just can’t resist, before she gently presses to let him know to get up. Then, she’s hefting herself with a soft grunt of pain. He catches it, and winces himself, even as her smile stays right in place.

Maybe it didn’t hurt that bad, if she was still looking at him so happily. The way he knew he looked at her, like she was his moon and sun and stars and everything in between.

“Anything for you, mon chatton.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1) My Kitty  
> 2) Dear one/Darling  
> 3) Kitten
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Please leave a comment and check me out on [tumblr! ](http://www.babycinders.tumblr.com)


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